Page 70 of Her Beast of a Duke
The scent of dog flooded her nose, and she laughed, already reaching out to stroke Morris before she even opened her eyes.
Only, when she did, her eyes snagged on her husband, who had stayed at her side, slumped still against the wall, his face slack in sleep. Her heart stuttered. His head was tipped forward, chin resting on his chest, and his arms were folded.
Isabella wanted to capture the moment, but Morris ambled shakily over to his master, licking him in the same way he had with Isabella, granting them both a lovely, wet wake-up.
Oscar jerked awake, hands already lifting, but once he found only fur, he laughed.
“There you are,” he said proudly, his voice still thick with sleep. “You gave me a proper scare last night, boy. Let us have a look at your stitches. Lie down.”
Dutifully, Morris flopped to his side, baring the tender wound to him. Oscar nodded only once.
“No sign of infection,” he assessed. “The veterinarian will be around to check on him shortly, I imagine. In the meantime, boy, you rest up. No chasing rabbits, and definitely no going into the woods. You understand?”
Morris whined, but kept lying on his side, as if understanding to stay put.
Oscar slid his gaze to Isabella, clearing his throat. He was already getting off the bed, but she reached out, snatching his shirt sleeve.
“You… You do not have to go,” she said softly. “We could have breakfast together.”
Oscar did hesitate, and a part of her was hopeful that he at least considered it. But he sighed and shook his head. “I have things to take care of, but I will come and find you soon. In the meantime, you should rest as well. It was a long night. You must be tired.”
“I find myself energized knowing that Morris is all right,” she answered, smiling.
“As do I. I’ll come to find you.”
The veterinarian’s assurances had given Isabella hope, and with Oscar’s repeated promise to join her later, a fragile optimism began to take root. She retreated to the music room, filling the quiet with gentle practice to occupy her mind until he might come to seek her.
Morris, meanwhile, was prescribed rest. A salve was left for the dog should infection threaten, though the veterinarian seemed confident the hound would mend.
The servants, sensitive to her concern, took turns peeking in on the dog, reporting back that he slept soundly, his great frame rising and falling in peace.
Isabella drifted between her tasks and her thoughts, at one point wandering back to her chambers.
She had only just begun to loosen her gown when the door stirred and opened once more.
She glanced up to find Oscar being followed into her room by a maid, and he caught Isabella’s eye.
“Please see to it that Her Grace has a bath drawn,” he instructed the maid, who curtsied and disappeared into the separate bathroom connected to Isabella’s main chamber.
She only cocked her head to the side.
“What are you doing?” she asked with a playful smile.
“I told you I would come to find you. I knew you would not stay away from Morris for very long. I guessed correctly, it seems. Now, would you care to enter?” He nodded his head toward the bathroom, and she nodded, slipping off the bed, careful not to jostle Morris.
Once the bath was ready, Isabella nodded at her maid. “Thank you.”
Oscar leaned on the doorframe, watching her.
“I shall leave you to your soak, then,” he told her, but a smile danced on his lips, so different from the angry energy he had exhibited yesterday.
“Or you may stay and help me undress.”
His mouth twitched, his eyes running over her for a blistering second. “That is your maid’s job, Duchess.”
“Today, it can be yours,” she half-teased, but she could see him working through the request. It was evident that he did not know what to do with it.
She walked over to the doorway, grasped his wrists, and tugged him into the bathroom with her, closing the door behind them.
